


Through the Gray

by onesillygoose



Category: WWE, wrestling - Fandom
Genre: M/M, firstpersonpov, notkayfabecompliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:40:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27656975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onesillygoose/pseuds/onesillygoose
Summary: The inner thinking of Roman's mind while stuck in the car with his best friend and the man he loves.
Relationships: Dean Ambrose | Jon Moxley/Roman Reigns
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	Through the Gray

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this story about 5 years ago for a writing class. I've been thinking of it a lot lately and finally dug it up. It's nothing like what I normally write. It's short, innocent, and in no way explicit. It was meant to be sweet and a little bit heartbreaking, if I'm being honest.
> 
> It's the first work of mine of this couple that I've actually posted (although, I have many more works.) I may post more in the future, we'll see.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you guys like it. I was very proud of it and finally decided to share. It's nice to post something different for a change.
> 
> Enjoy!

Another day, another town. The road lies infinitely ahead of us as we literally drive off into the sunset in our metal steed. We’re in another white Charger.

He has an obsession with white Chargers with black leather interior. Not sure why. I don’t question it. Just another quirk of his. This one smells pretty clean, surprisingly. Normally they smell like cigarettes or weed. Some punk kid probably renting it for the weekend to impress some girl.

He smokes like a chimney, so if it didn’t smell before, it sure will now.

We’re still covered in sweat, oil, saliva, and even a little bit of blood. He looks like a feral war god. I look more like a dirty, worn out rat. We’re exhausted. Dead tired, but it’s a race to make it to the next town before morning.

And yet, I really don’t mind. I love spending as much time with him as I am awarded. I’ve loved him since the moment I met him. Too bad for me, he has no idea, nor will he probably ever.

At least I get to have him in my life. I am content in simply cherishing the moments we have alone together as friends. It’s like the world disappears around us for just a little while, and it’s just me and him. We can be ourselves, without worrying about people constantly watching. Things become easy, effortless, like it always is when it’s just the two of us.

I watch as he fiddles with the radio, cursing and mashing buttons, complaining about how all he can seem to find are country stations when he’s looking for some shitty 80s metal, until he finally gives up and turns it off. I laugh, and remind him how much he actually loves country. Even if he never admits it out loud. That’s just who he is, though. He doesn’t need to hide who he is when he’s around me, and he knows he’ll never have to, but he likes to try, even if it is pointless. I envy him that way. There are secrets of mine I’ll forever hide from him.

I’m always sure to analyze everything I do, careful to never slip up in anyway. I can never let him find out. But him? He is always so sure of himself. Never second guessing, never analyzing. Only doing. Full speed ahead in every aspect of his life. A rough, unapologetic nature. He knows exactly who he is. I wish I could say the same.

For years I’ve been told who to be. “We want you to wear this now. It’ll be good, and we can see more of your body this way.” “You need to be more muscular. You’re still a bit on the fatter side.” “We’re going to have you wear gray contacts now. Your eyes just don’t stand out enough.”

I’m not good enough as myself. Constantly, _constantly_ being repackaged, turned into something different. “Better” is what they keep telling me. Basically having “new and improved” stamped on my forehead every few months. He is more than most people know what to do with. They couldn’t change him even if they tried. I love that about him.

I watch as he taps out an unheard beat on the steering wheel. I can’t help but smile, and then my eyes travel to his face of their own accord. He has a few days’ worth of stubble on his face, and his lip is scabbed from where it had been busted open. His long lashes catch the day’s last rays of sunlight, distracting me more than a little. His hair is wild, blowing in the wind like a glistening golden flame. And in nothing more than a t-shirt and gym shorts, he is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.

“Hey, Dean?” I call out softly, hardly more than a whisper.

I’m surprised he hears me with the open window. His crystal blue eyes turn to me, intense and focused, and so clear. People would pay thousands of dollars for gems that look like this man’s eyes.

He stares at me for a moment in complete silence. Completely ready to listen with everything within him to what I’m about to say.

One heartbeat, two heartbeats, three heartbeats, four heartbeats.

My skin is beginning to flush under the scrutiny of his gaze. My tongue feels like a lead block in my mouth, and I can’t seem to make myself speak. His happy expression dissipates, changing to worry, his eyebrows furrow, and it is a tragedy to see that expression on his face. My guilt slithers around in the pit of my stomach.

He pulls over to the side of the road, turns the engine off, and turns his unrelenting gaze back on me. His eyes are still just as crystal blue, and their intensity scares the hell out of me.

“What’s the matter?” The concern so very evident in his voice.

I stare back at him, unspeaking, pleading with my eyes that he’ll see what I so desperately need him to. See through the stone gray charade to the truth beneath. The truth just under the surface that is held in the dark brown irises that actually belong to me. I stare at him and wait.

One heartbeat, two heartbeats, three heartbeats, four heartbeats.

But he can’t see through the gray. Can’t see what lies just beneath it. I guess I can’t really expect him to. I’ve even begun to forget what I look like without contacts in. I can’t hope that he’d see the real me, and what I’ve so desperately kept hidden. It doesn’t matter anyway. Unless I shrink a foot, become a blue eyed blond, and grow a pair of breasts, he will never love me the way I love him.

“I… I just wanted to say that I’m glad you’re my best friend, Dean.”

My voice is back to being that quiet almost whisper, and I withdraw once again back into myself. I am more than ashamed.

I watch as relief passes over his face at hearing my words, and he gives me a heartbreakingly stunning crooked smile.

“Thanks,” he says sincerely, “I’m glad you’re my best friend too, Rome.”

He waits just a moment longer before starting the engine.

One heartbeat, two heartbeats, three heartbeats, four heartbeats.

Then he pulls smoothly back onto the road.

I watch his face carefully, but all I see is focus and contentment, just as he always looks when he’s around me. A look of nothing more than the platonic love he feels for me. Comfort, and nothing more.

The sun is going down now, and the road stretches infinitely ahead of us still. We drive in comfortable silence for a while, then I take out my phone and type myself a reminder to order more gray contacts. This is my last pair.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading y'all!


End file.
